


Lacking Constitution

by musicalsarelife



Series: Photo AU [3]
Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Discussions of withdrawal, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 15:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicalsarelife/pseuds/musicalsarelife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is part of my Photo AU.  It elaborates on the conversation between Joly and Enjolras, concerning Grantaire's withdrawal.  It references chapter 14 of "To Capture Your Image As Well As Your Heart."  It is recommended, but probably not required to have read the first story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lacking Constitution

“‘Chetta, stop it!”  Bossuet giggled brightly, as Musichetta tickled him, causing him to topple onto the couch, nearly kicking Joly in the process. 

“Hey!”  The medic protested, jovially. 

“It’s not my fault!”  Bossuet exclaimed, as he let Musichetta pull him into her arms. 

“Not at all.”  She murmured, smirking at him and pressing kiss after kiss to his face. 

“Oh you two…” Joly knelt on the couch and leaned in to kiss Musichetta, who pulled him down across both hers and Bossuet’s lap.  Bossuet, then grinned and kissed him, pulling Joly up against him. 

Joly moaned against the other’s mouth, as they kissed, with Musichetta looking on, and he was perfectly content to continue this for the evening. 

Unfortunately, his plans were interrupted, by an insistent jangle from another room.  He attempted to ignore it, but eventually, Musichetta, whispered, “Your phone…” against his ear. 

He groaned, before getting up to run to their bedroom and grab his phone: Two missed calls, all from Enjolras.  He was about to return the call, when his friend rang again.  He picked up, and asked, “Enj, what is it?” 

“I’m worried about ‘Aire.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“He has a fever.  Like, burning.  I haven’t taken his temperature, but he feels far too warm.  He’s thrown up, and he’s hardly talking straight, now.  It’s like he hardly knows me.” 

The man sounded panicked.  _Oh dear…_ “How much has he had to drink?”  The medic inquired seriously. 

Enjolras sounded caught off guard on the other end, “I–his last drink was last night, I think.  He's trying to stop…” 

By this point, Joly had wandered back into the other room.  “Oh!  Then, it's probably withdrawal.”  He diagnosed.  Maybe this was good. 

“What?”  Enjolras sounded confused. 

Joly quickly mouthed, _Grantaire is sick_ , to Bossuet and Musichetta.  “The alcohol needs to work out of his system.  It's like any other drug.”  _Really, Enjolras, I would have expected you to know this._  

“Oh…” Enjolras sounded relieved for a moment, “How long?” 

There was a regretful tint to his pragmatic tone, as he stated.  “It's hard to say, it could take weeks.  Maybe longer.”  Really, with Grantaire’s habits the way they were, it could take a very long time for him to really cleanse himself of the drug.  Joly tried to quell the bile that he felt rising in his throat the more he thought about it.  It was going to be an extremely rough process. 

There was a heavy sigh from the phone, “He'll be okay, though?  This is normal?”  Enjolras’s voice was shaky and concerned. 

For a moment, Joly considered sugar-coating his diagnosis, but then, he felt like he would have been remiss in his duties.  “Well…it's normal.”  He stated. 

There was a frighteningly long pause on the other end, and Joly almost immediately regretted his wording.  _You expect to be able to calm families, when you treat them, when your first words frighten your best friend?  Damn._ Several seconds went by, where he thought the call had dropped.  He looked to his two lovers, who shrugged, when a loud, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” almost caused him to jump. 

 _Shit!_   “E, don't panic.  It won't help.”  He insisted, frantically. 

Enjolras, immediately, was all business.  Joly recognized the tone from meeting, where he made sure every question was answered.  The disembodied voice on the other end was slow and distinct.  “No, tell me, what do you mean? 

Musichetta’s brow furrowed.  Joly tried to send a look, which was as explanatory as possible.  He was fairly certain he failed, because she and Bossuet still seemed lost. 

Just as slowly as Enjolras, he answered, “Withdrawal is tricky, when someone has been dependent on something for so long…it's rough on a person's body.”  He took a deep breath. 

“Okay…what's the worst that can happen.” 

 _God, Enjolras, he’s my friend, too.  I don’t even want to think about the worst…_ Joly swallowed hard.  “Well…E, I don't–” 

Hysterically, Enjolras demanded, “Tell me!” 

“It doesn’t help to think in worst case scenarios, Enj–” 

“Joly,” the chief snapped, “You think in worst case scenarios every day.  The only reason you’re holding out is because you’re actually worried, and if you’re worried, I sure as hell need to know why.” 

Enjolras was loud enough that everyone around could about hear him.  Both Bossuet and Musichetta’s eyes grew wide.  Musichetta shot Joly a very serious look. 

“Joly, tell me.”  He commanded. 

Musichetta shook her head quickly, but Joly was at a loss.  _This is really what they should teach in med school_ , he thought, _How to tell people what’s wrong, without giving someone a panic attack._   “In really dire cases, the withdrawal can kill the person.” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them.  There was a deafening silence.  The stillness was only broken by both Bossuet and Musichetta looking at him as if he were insane, gesturing wildly.  In their faces, he could read, _Why the HELL would you say that to him?_  

“Enjolras?”  Joly attempted after a very long time. 

When he finally spoke, Enjolras sounded broken, “…what?” 

He had to fix this, and it seemed like his loves agreed, as Musichetta stood from the couch and whacked him upside the head.  In his most soothing tones, he tried to say, “Look, Grantaire is young, and aside from the drinking, in good health, I'm sure– 

“What have I done?  Oh god, oh god…” In the hysterics at the other end, Joly was almost certain he heard tears, and that scared him.  Their chief was clearly not listening at all. 

Bossuet mouthed, _Calm him down_. 

With a shrug, Joly mouthed, _I’m trying!_ back to him. 

“E, look,” Forcibly, he tried to break through the wall Enjolras was building around him “I shouldn't have said–he'll be okay!”  He gasped forcefully, “Enj, believe me.  He'll be fine.”  Joly really hoped that he could convince himself he was right, because if he didn’t believe it, there was no way he would be able to give Enjolras any comfort.  “He'll make it through, if only to impress you.”  _Well, that was as true as anything._

Those words seemed to get Enjolras’s attention.  Though, he still sounded much younger than his age when he asked, “What?” 

“He's a stubborn one.”  Joly insisted, praying he sounded much calmer than he was.  It was hard dealing with Enjolras’s emotions.  The leader was so collected.  If he was thrown, it had to be a bad situation.  And, all his controlled emotions only made his eventual outbursts even more intense. 

“Yes, he is…”  The simmering tension was slowly draining from his voice. 

“He'll be okay.”  _I really, really hope I’m right…_  

“He'll be okay…” It sounded like Enjolras almost believed his words. 

“Yes.”  Joly then waited a long beat.  He furrowed his brow.  Usually, once Enjolras was finished with business, he would quickly say goodbye and hang up, but for what seemed an eternity, Joly listened to his breathing over the phone.  “Just, uh…just stay with him.”  He eventually muttered, wishing he had better advice.  He feels like he should have better advice, anyhow. 

“Of course, I will…” The chief answered immediately, as if there were no other response.  After a moment’s hesitation, in a far less confident tone, he repeated, “You're sure this is normal?” 

Joly took a breath, “Absolutely.  If you need something, call me.”  His voice wavered, and he really hoped he sounded confident.  _Maybe medicine isn’t such a good plan…it takes so much calmness…_

“Thanks, Joly.  I’ll uh…I’ll call you tomorrow.”  And with that, Enjolras hung up.  Joly let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. 

“I can’t do this.  I don’t have the constitution for it.”  Joly fell down in a slump to the couch. 

“For?”  Bossuet raised an eyebrow. 

“This whole doctor thing.  How does anyone stay calm, when informing loved ones about terrible things?” 

“Other than when you said that ‘Taire might die, I think you handled it well.”  Bossuet assured, patting his shoulder and kissing his cheek. 

“But, he might!  And, I have to assure E that everything will be okay, and I have to be calm, and I just want to panic because, forget about E, _I’m_ worried–” 

Musichetta took his chin between her fingers, turned his head and kissed him to shut him up.  He was quite aware of this motivation, but couldn’t bring himself to care, because kissing Musichetta was very nice indeed.  Pulling away from him, she murmured in a voice like silk, “You did well, love.” 

He couldn’t disagree, as she had pressed her lips back to his. 

She pulled away again, “We’re all worried, but you’re right.  If nothing else, Grantaire is stubborn, and it’s always the stubborn bastards who survive in the end.”  She smiled softly, and Joly wondered how she could look so reassuring. 

“And, you have helped by making sure Enjolras is informed and grounded.” 

Joly wasn’t sure how to respond, because as much as he loved Bossuet, he wasn’t sure he was right, but he appreciated the sentiment. 

“Let’s go to bed,” Bossuet whispered into his ear.  He opened his eyes to see the man reach across him to take Musichetta’s hand in his. 

As they lay in each other’s arms, Joly looked to Musichetta, all tanned skin and dark, rolling curls, and then to Bossuet, face relaxed and childlike with sleep.  He wondered why he had deserved such lovely beings to share his life and bed, when he was always two steps from a panic attack, and he lacked the very distinct ability to assuage the fears of his friends, even in his chosen field.  However, as Bossuet tightened his arms around Joly’s waist, and Musichetta snuggled closer to his chest, he had to believe that he did something wonderful in a past life to win the trust of friends and the love of the sleeping angels around him.


End file.
